Chapter 1 - The Nineteenth Woman|
The eighteenth nanny fled Dominic Vale's mansion with blood running down her forehead.
And three hours later, his four-year-old son attacked me with a bronze horse statue.
But the terrifying part wasn't the pain.
It was what the little boy whispered when I refused to run.
“Don't let him find me.”
My name is Clara Reed. I was twenty-two years old, desperately poor, and about to make the most dangerous decision of my life.
That morning, I arrived at the Vale estate in Lake Forest carrying everything I owned in a faded canvas bag.
I needed the job.
My younger brother Tyler was nineteen and needed heart surgery. My mother had stopped opening the hospital bills because every envelope seemed to contain another number we couldn't possibly pay.
Working two shifts at a Cicero diner hadn't been enough.
Cleaning offices at night hadn't been enough.
And Dominic Vale was offering more money in one week than I normally earned in a month.
Unfortunately, Dominic wasn't an ordinary employer.
He was one of Chicago's most feared mafia bosses.
At thirty-eight, he controlled a powerful network of businesses, some legitimate, others operating in the shadows. His dark hair, steel-gray eyes, and intimidating silence had made him the subject of countless rumors.
People feared his temper.
But everyone inside his mansion feared something else.
His son.
Noah Vale had lost his mother two years earlier during a roadside attack.
Since then, eighteen professional nannies had failed to care for him.
He screamed.
He kicked.
He broke things.
And whenever anyone tried to hold him, he fought as though his life depended on escaping.
Mrs. Hargrove, the house manager, met me at the service entrance.
“You'll clean the main floor,” she instructed. “You will not touch the boy unless instructed.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And whatever you do, stay away from the north wing.”
I nodded.
She studied my inexpensive shoes.
“You won't last a week.”
I said nothing.
Pride couldn't pay Tyler's hospital bills.
Less than an hour later, I was mopping the foyer when a child's scream echoed through the mansion.
Noah rushed toward me carrying a heavy bronze horse statue.
Before I could move, he struck my ribs.
The pain sent me collapsing onto the marble floor.
My bucket overturned.
Water spread around my knees.
From the staircase, Dominic Vale thundered:
“Noah! Enough!”
Two security guards rushed forward.
But Noah continued kicking toward me.
His face was red.
His little fists were trembling.
And his enormous dark eyes were filled with something much worse than anger.
Terror.
I stayed on my knees.
“It's okay,” I whispered.
Noah froze.
I kept my voice gentle.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
He stared at me.
Then his gaze darted toward the staircase.
His lips moved.
At first, I couldn't hear him.
So I leaned a little closer.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
He whispered:
“Don't let him find me.”
My blood turned cold.
Because Noah wasn't looking at his father.
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He was staring at the shadowed hallway behind him.
And someone standing in that darkness had just stepped out of sight.
